Preludes
by skyward.eyes
Summary: Nick had always guessed that it wasn't just a lump of fresh flesh underneath the cheap T-shirt. In two parts, including two additional chapters.
1. Insomnia

**Preludes**

_Left 4 Dead 2, fanfiction_

**Summary: **Nick had always guessed that it wasn't just a lump of fresh flesh underneath the cheap T-shirt.

**Setting: **Stage 3 (Swamp Fever), chapter 1 safe room.

**Disclaimer: **L4D2 belongs to Valve

* * *

><p><strong>Preludes<strong>

**Part One: Insomnia**

If it wasn't for the white spots of stars seen through a crack in the wooden roof, Ellis wouldn't have believed that his reality was the same with the one he was born in. Six months ago he was going through humdrum routines: waking up, fixing cars, hanging out with friends, dating random girls, learning how to play bass after midnight, jerking off if work hadn't worn him out bad enough. He always went home worn out, as if his bones were about to either cave in or explode through his flesh. Nowadays, it stopped seeming like a joke anymore, since his bones could cave in just about any time, because of endless running and muscular spasms.

The night was almost still and the air smelled of swamp, grass, gunpowder and dead zombies rotting away in the cold. Somewhere in the far-off distance, a witch was singing in high-pitch. Ellis rolled around under the rough blanket, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. His skin itched as if a thousand tiny needles were piercing through every pore. With every wave of itching that went through his damp T-shirt and pants, the witch's voice made it even more obvious. A few more twists and turns, he decided to get up then walked to the balcony, knowing that sleep wouldn't come anytime soon.

He thought of how the scenery of the swamp used to soothe him in a strange way. The greenish water with occasional presence of fog made him thought of a secret land. The witch was still singing. Without any wall surrounding him, it sounded even louder, like a broken sound system. He took a deep breath then stretched his arms while looking at the fog floating above the swamps. A while later he could hear footsteps behind him.

* * *

><p>"What's up, Nick? Couldn't sleep?"<p>

"Not that it's your problem," said Nick, leaning his back against the railing then looked up to the sky.

Ellis turned to look at the man in white suit. No matter how long he looked at it, he couldn't tell if the suit was actually $ 3,000; all he could see was a seemingly stiff material that prevented sweat from going out and the wearer from moving too much. Zombies don't care about the price, he thought, all they wanted was a taste of fresh flesh, the thought relieved him.

"Should you stare like that?"

Ellis didn't even realize that he was even staring. Even so, it was actually the suit he was staring at.

"Why a pair of eyes bother you that much?" Ellis asked with a smile. "Anyway, I was looking at your suit."

Nick said nothing in reply.

"For something with a price three times my family car it surely looks uncomfortable."

"Probably you just don't get it," Nick said.

"Yeah, my low-class redneck brain doesn't get it," Ellis said with a mocking smile. His dry lips felt painful as he widened them. "Thought I'll say it first before you do."

"That's a conscience, Ellis."

"I have another joke for you: the only things I ever smoked are Marlboros and five-cent cigars," Ellis said with a smile. "Thought you'd need something else to mock me with other than my southern accent."

Nick clacked his tongue then smiled. He didn't even know why he should be smiling, when all he felt was the most sincere form of pity. The guy was twenty-three and had never tasted good cigarettes; worse still, he had to embarrass himself for saying it. If there was something to be pitied, that was just about the size of it.

"A smile does you good, like that," Ellis said. "Don't need to look so stern since there's probably no tomorrow. I don't want to die with my face looking all contorted."

Nick frowned then looked at Ellis, whose gaze had moved from his suit to the sky. There was another point to be pitied, he thought then looked at how dirty Ellis looked, like a swamp man that had just resurfaced. The lid of his baseball cap was bent out of shape, and strands of dark brown hair that clung to his forehead made him looked like an used-up worker. Nick knew well enough that his suit was well pass dirty, but Ellis's T-shirt looked worse. If he was in his place, he'd rather go topless than having on a miserable fabric clinging to his skin.

"Once you're infected you'll say an entirely different thing."

"I wonder," Ellis said. This time he placed his arms on the railing then leaned forward. The bad-smelling air didn't smell so bad anymore, now that he was used to it. "But as for me, I'd like to think that I'll make it out alive. That's the only thing I can think of."

Nick said nothing in reply. The witch was still singing. Her voice cut through the fog and the air. Strange enough, Ellis even started thinking that it sounded good, her keep singing like that. Nick, on the other hand, felt like taking a shotgun then shot the thing in her head.

"Whether you're alive or dead, Ellis, it wouldn't change a thing. You'll still be a common person, nothing more," Nick said with a mocking tone. He didn't mean any of them, of course, he only wanted to see a change in Ellis's expression that always happed so fast.

"Very funny, Nick," he said with a chuckle. Then, after a while: "Come to think of it, doesn't a world where we once was seems a like a world far-off because of the Flu?"

Nick clacked his tongue then moved his gaze from the mud and swamp to Ellis. Just then he realized that the mechanic could've been a very handsome man if it wasn't for the dirt all over his face. He had tall jawbones and childish lips that seemed to stutter like a flower bud's mouth every time he spoke.

"Say, Ellis, have you, even once, think of something useful to say?"

"Honestly speaking, I don't understand ninety-nine per cent of whatever you talked about sometimes: your books, your favorite brands, your kind of music…" When he finished speaking, he looked at the stars again. It made him realize that he was still a part of the bigger thing. "But those are what you call important things, I guess."

A silence followed.

"Anyway, what you were saying about the world far-off," Nick said. Then after a while added: "Thought I'd ask…"

"Sometimes I see the faces of people I once knew as zombies. Everything changed. After twenty-three years, it just happens, as if a lever had been pulled. And I see an entirely different world, as if I'm not from here. Kicked out completely. I guess that's an explanation to it. Not that you'd care, though."

Nick moved his lips, only to realize that he actually had nothing to say. Instead, he stared at his fingers that were tense because of holding guns. Even his nails had turned bluish. Then it suddenly dawned on him that he was aching for cigarettes and prints. He groped the right pocket of his suit, searching for an imaginary pack of Benson & Hedges.

"This is the first time you got a point," he finally told Ellis.

Ellis smiled in reply. Nick was looking at those childish lips again. The longer he looked at that face, though, the more he realized that almost everything about Ellis's face retained a certain childishness.

"When everything you used to think you can get is lost," Ellis finally said. "Self-improvement doesn't mean so much anymore, don't you think?"

"Is that supposed to be spoken for me or for yourself?"

"Whoever it works for," he said. "I mean, my goals used to be big. When I was a child, I used to dream that I'd make it as a rock star. After that I'll take down Hollywood because Scorsese has, by some strange sense, picked me as a lead star for his newest spy movie." Ellis paused to take a deep breath. Nick was right about those childish lips that looked like a flower bud. Now that Ellis bit the lower one, those lips resembled it even more. "The next thing I knew I'm well pass twenty, a high-school dropout who's also a church regular and still there's no Hollywood. Scorsese still doesn't know about my existence either."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Nick said. For the first time he felt like comforting Ellis. "He's probably infected, just like that poor racer of yours."

"Come on now, stop insulting poor Jimmy."

* * *

><p>Three zombies could be seen walking near a tree about three meters away, like three confused orphans. They were holding their heads, puking out blood. Nick extracted his handgun from his holster and was about to shoot them down when Ellis grabbed his hand.<p>

"Mr. Johnson, his wife and his son Dustin."

"What are you talking about?"

"People from my hometown that looked just like them," Ellis said. "They used to live around the swamp, breeding crocodiles. People thought they were bad guys, but they never knew that Mrs. Johnson's chocolate cookies were great. They even mocked me for even eating them. They said that 'swamp fingers' made them."

Nick put the gun back in the holster then searched his pocket again for an imaginary pack of Benson & Hedges. To shake off the disappointment, he looked at Ellis's lips again. The guy was probably lying, having said that he was a smoker, Nick thought, those lips were too pink and moist.

He looked at the three again then, after a while, examined the overweight apron-wearing woman. Blood was dripping from her mouth to her neck and collarbones. Even her apron was stained. Her fingers were dirty with mud. How if she, too, happened to make great chocolate cookies? Nick had a very hard time trying to picture it.

"You were friends with the son?" Nick asked after some time.

Ellis nodded.

"He was a good guy, a quiet type, although heavy on the strange side," he said. "I thought it was because he got really lonely sometimes."

After a short pause, Ellis added: "Say, Nick, how does it feel to be so rich, popular and smart?"

"Not much," Nick said. "The time I looked back, I realized it was just me, standing on a muddy ground that slowly ate away my identity."

Another silence followed. The three zombies retreated further into the background until they got completely swallowed up by the fog. Ellis moved his body from the railing. He reached overhead then stretched his arms. He turned to look at Nick's white suit again. He still didn't know how the thing could be so expensive. It was then he realized that there was a red lipstick stain on the blue collar of his shirt. It was almost badly smeared although it was enough to make Ellis imagine its continuation on Nick's neck. In fact, the bite marks were already there. They were so obvious he wondered how Nick would deal with them later on.

"If you make it alive through the Apocalypse, what will you do?" Ellis asked, uneasy with the silence.

"I'll open a classical bar in L.A.," he said assuredly. It was the first time Ellis had seen a sense of determination in Nick's usual dead eyes and a clear hint of smile on the thin lips. "I can't keep gambling and escaping police for ever. I guess it'll be a good timing to make use of my Strasbourg Conservatory diploma."

"Very romantic," Ellis said with a smile. "If the place gets really famous, will you invite Scorsese and introduce him to me? If he hasn't been infected, of course."

A short while later, Ellis added: "No, I was joking." The echo of his light chuckle, at time, seemed to rhyme with the witch's high-pitch singing. Strange, he didn't feel so cut off from his new reality anymore.

"Thought of a name already?"

"Via Purifico," Nick said. "It's Latin for 'purification route'."

"Via Purifico," Ellis mimed, chewing the foreign words one syllable at a time.

The witch continued her singing, her voice cutting through the dense fog. The sky had, since long, turned a shade lighter around the horizon. Ellis thought of birds he used to heard every morning, the rustling sound of leaves but there was neither. The air hung heavy, misty, like a damp layer over the skin. It surely wasn't the right air for birds.

* * *

><p>The fog was no longer thick because of the warmer air. There was an obvious maroon line at the horizon, breaking the darker shade into warm gradations several shades lighter.<p>

"Undead birds," Ellis mumbled to himself. His eyes were heavy, but he couldn't think of sleeping. His T-shirt felt like a second skin that was about to fall off, yet it was forcedly glued to his skin. Back then he could always shower in hot water after long days of work. The thought faded away as fast as the thought about birds.

He turned to see the space on the railing where Nick was. A faint hint of wind smelling of swamp water blew towards his body then passed the empty spot.

* * *

><p>"Trouble sleeping?" Nick thought of what Ellis would ask him if he showed up at the balcony.<p>

He closed the eyes then thought of the swamp. There were cries of zombies, but they were still too far-off for them to worry about, just like the witch's singing. "Trouble sleeping, Nick?" Ellis's voice asked again. It was as sharply-cut as the crack in the wooden roof.

He sighed then kicked the rough blanket away. It seemed like only yesterday he was sleeping next to the most remarkable burlesque dancer in a Le Meridien suite. In the morning he'd hear another bottle of champagne popping and had another kiss from the lips that smeared of lipstick. Her bite still stung his neck, but he had trouble recalling her name and her face. Then in the darkness, the voice said again: "You're a damn insomniac, Nick."

Nick looked at the crack in the wooden roof again. It was the only source of light. He raised his hands, lined the ten fingers before his eyes then started tapping on an imaginary piano. Even so, his mind kept dashing back and forth between the rusted iron door of the safe room, the foul-smelling air, Coach's loud snores, Rochelle's mumbles, and Ellis. The mental image about the mechanic zoomed larger, until he saw the flower bud lips, which soon replaced the imaginary piano.

_"Via Purifico,"_ Ellis had repeated. The words sounded different because of the funny southern accent.

He knew that staying here any longer wouldn't help anything. The witch's singing soon became the only song for him, although admitting it felt like stuffing something in his throat.

* * *

><p>"You miss me already?"<p>

"Cut that bullshit, Ellis."

"The witch actually sings pretty well," Ellis said, completely unperturbed by the cold response.

"Another bullshit, still."

"Turn off the flashlights so that she'll keep singing," Ellis added then chuckled. When he turned to Nick, his eyes were filled with an unlikely glow, like a child's. It could've been a Carousel he was looking at.

Nick sighed then averted his gaze towards the swamp and the trees. The fog had lost even more density.

"It's because of lack of sleep," Ellis said jokingly, bordering on mockery. "Mom always told me that lacking of sleep makes someone irritable, that's normal."

_You're a damn insomniac_, Nick repeated the voice in his mind.

"You're a damn insomniac, Nick," Ellis said, as if reading his mind. A while later, he hissed to himself: "Shit, this thing gets on my nerves." Then took off the damp T-shirt then threw it to the ground. It landed there with a soft thud. "I don't even know why I keep sweating, despite the cold air and all…"

"You're scared to the bones, Ellis, you know it."

"Yeah, I am," Ellis said in low tone. "Besides, the Apocalypse feels like the worst, longest for ever to be passed."

Nick moved his gaze from the flower bud lips to the chiseled torso next to him. He had always guessed that it wasn't just a lump of fresh flesh underneath the cheap T-shirt. He looked at the muscles glistening with sweat. The arms, chest, and stomach were like a group of different breeds detached from the hands with jutting veins and the fingers with dirty, sunken nails. His favorite women had always said: "A man's body is just a body, but a woman's has a language." This time he knew that it was the most useless phrase of all.

"I've stopped caring whether I'll actually make it alive," Nick said, averting his gaze back towards the swamp.

"What will happen to Via Purifico?" Ellis asked.

"Forget it."

"Too bad," Ellis said, leaning his back against the railing then looked at the trees towering above him. The thought of undead birds resurfaced.

"You really think so?" Nick asked.

Ellis nodded.

"Although I always think that classical music sounds pretty much alike and high notes on piano are like someone shooting on glass, a classical bar's a cool thing," he said a while later. The discarded T-shirt looked like a carcass around his boots. "There are plenty of rock bars and jazz bars, but classical bars aren't likely. I once knew a guy, a fellow mechanic, who lost two fingers and dreamed of the same thing. He'd be jamming on his cheap piano every break he got. He lived across my shop."

"What happened to him then?"

A soft breeze sent a ripple through the leaves. Ellis heard what seemed to him like wings flapping and faint chirps. They could've came from inside his head.

Nick bent his neck left and right. The right one popped. Ellis squatted to take T-shirt then wore it back.

"He got infected," Ellis said, looking at the trees covered with fog. "He asked me to shoot him before the CEDA guys did. He was in the process of turning completely so he was still conscious, mind you. I was even looking at his eyes when I pulled the trigger. He was down for a while until he got up a short while later, so I shot him for the second time. That one killed him."

After a pause, Ellis added: "What I want to say is that you got ten fingers and you're a survivor, Nick."

The witch had stopped singing. The sound of her sobbing remained audible for a while until it completely faded away into an even further distance.


	2. Birds

**Part Two: Birds**

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><p>Back in the safe room.<p>

Ellis had, sure enough, fallen asleep under the rough blanket, as if unaware that only several hours ago he could barely stand his damp T-shirt, the foul smell of swamp, and the witch's singing. If it wasn't for the mechanic's chest that moved faintly up and down, he would've been mistakenly taken as dead.

When Ellis rolled over, Nick moved his arm to the spot where the body once was. The wooden floor was still warm from his body. "Undead birds," Ellis mumbled. Nick looked at the childish lips then compared it to the rest of the mechanic's face—like his beautiful torso, it seemed completely detached from the rough features.

* * *

><p>Nick had the strangest vivid dream that night, as if he was on LSD.<p>

He was slowly undressing Ellis, the way someone peeling a beautiful wrapping paper to see the present underneath it. The mechanic's eyes showed a mutual understanding; more than it, he was already knew that Nick should've been the person to take off his shirt and pants, to kiss his face and neck, to suspend his arms.

There were times where Nick felt a burning sensation welling up in his stomach, the warmth that rose up to his throat: when he knew that the valuable chips he won could instantly get him a penthouse, a Maserati, and the most remarkable woman in the place. This one, though, was a different burning sensation, because it also flushed down to his organ, rousing hunger. Ellis's flesh tasted of sweat, mud, even hints of oil. Nick pulled the mechanic's body closer to his, their warmth met. Ellis clawed the back of Nick's thighs. By then, Nick had completely forgotten about Ellis's ugly fingers and grayish, sunken nails. Each time the mechanic made a move it felt to Nick like some kind of submission. The more submissive Ellis became, the greater the need Nick felt to dominate him. He wanted Ellis's body all to himself, and the thought of anyone else might be holding it troubled him.

The scene continued like a muted scene in an old black and white movie. A director was sitting nearby, shouting arousing words in French, just as Nick always dreamed it: to be a part of a French movie. There were twenty-three crews with camera surrounding him and Ellis, recording the scene from every angle. Which ones were to be put in the final cut? Not that he cared. All he cared was that his lips was attached to Ellis's flower bud lips and his tongue was searching deliberately for an entrance. When the mechanic finally parted his lips, Nick started reaching with his tongue as far as possible, to the hidden area behind the teeth. The mechanic's saliva tasted like salted cheap beer. The taste was almost too natural, as if Ellis was born with it.

* * *

><p>Pleasure flushed down quickly, like fire. Ellis moaned, which somehow rhymed with his own. Nick felt that he was dissolving into thin air and Ellis was hungrily breathing him in. A man's body is an alien language, he thought, it should be decoded first before you can finally realize the adventure it holds. He always believed that making love with a woman and making love with a man are merely fire and smoke.<p>

A short while later, noise filled the black and white screen. It continued roaming the screen until the entire scene went into a perfect blur until it turned into a horizontal line before finally retreating back into a blank black screen.

* * *

><p>"Hey, look, birds!"<p>

Nick woke up to the faint white light on his face. His eyes were still sore and the sight of weapons and supplies on the table disturbed him. The others, sure enough, already shouldered their weapons and taken their supplies. He sighed then did the same before joining others in the balcony. The first person he looked at was Ellis, who was excitedly staring at the birds flying among the leaves. Nick tapped on his shoulder then said:

"You forgot your first aid kit."

"Thanks," Ellis said with a smile.

There were actually birds, after all: normal birds with normal chirps and normal movements of wings. Although they had no clue when the infection would reach them, it was relieving to know that there were still normal things in the changed world.

"Even though everything has changed," Ellis said, averting his gaze from the trees to Nick. "I'll keep thinking about birds during Apocalypse. For some reasons they make me have this really, really positive thought about flying."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

I've been playing the game for some time now; it's very interesting! Not only the graphics are great, but the characters have a certain depth to them, which is kind of surprising, because most shooting/ adventure games that are supposed to be "cool" and "gory" have one-dimensional characters.

Nick and Ellis are people who happen to be plunged into an abnormal condition... (the Apocalypse, mind you). They come from different backgrounds, but the interesting part is that although they look very different on the outside, they're really related in the inside: I and my best friend, who helped me revised this story, believe that Nick retains a part of Ellis and vice-versa. The next thing they know is that they're already moving in the same wavelength, although on the outside it still looks pretty deceiving because Ellis has, sure enough, such high respect for Nick we can almost assume that he's in love with the conman, yet Nick retains a certain coldness, as if admitting that, out of all people, he relates with Ellis the most is especially hard for him.

Of course, there are denials that none of them are actually gays, etc. and that originally, Ellis is drawn to Zoey in the simplest way but the shipping "Nellis" has nothing to do with homosexuality in common; it's more like there's a certain warmth that always tickles writers to pair them together, the same case with the characters Nick and Greg in _CSI: Las Vegas_.

Yet subtexts are every where. Although we'll never know whether they were created on purpose (to entertain fan-girls) or purposeless (effects that accidentally happen because of the interactions between the two), those could've been taken as proofs that, after all, the gambler/mechanic shipping is pretty official.

**Thank you for reading :-)**

**[Updated note: Optional chapter Via Purifico is up ! ]**


	3. Nocturnes part 1

**Disclaimer: Left 4 Dead 2 belongs to Valve.**

**Setting: Ten years past the two previous chapters, five years past Apocalypse.**

* * *

><p><p>

**Nocturnes and Cigarettes**

Preludes_, additional chapters_

**Part ONE**

A Chopin concerto was playing through the speakers attached to every upper corner of the lounge. Of course, Ellis had no idea if it was Chopin. Just like the country that was still recovering from the apocalypse, the music felt to him like a strange place. He looked around to check the bar's mostly black interior. The only sources of lighting were minimalistic white lights from the lamps and the greenish light from a large aquarium installed to the wall in his right-hand side. Some tables shared the greenish reflection, but the most affected was a grand piano in the far-off corner of the lounge. Seen from his angle, the lights seemed to interlace each other, even the reflections seemed as if they were about to trade places.

There were people in suits talking excitedly in suspended voice occupying sofas across the piano. All of them wore suits, yet they looked perfectly at ease as they leaned against the back of the sofa, leaned forward to take their glasses on the low glass table then leaned back. One of them crossed his legs. The fabric followed his leg as if it was made of rubber. Ellis frowned then looked at the handwritten invitation in his hand. The paper which was once neat and stiff, now resembled his old wool blazer and jeans. He had taken the blazer from his late father's mothball-smelling cupboard and the jeans was the only pair without holes.

A medium-sized fish swam across the aquarium, casting a passing shadow in the greenish light. One of the men in suits gave him tentative look. Ellis was unaware of it.

* * *

><p>A thin Japanese woman in beige silk dress an left the reception desk to welcome him, as if she had just become aware that Ellis was actually a visitor. She wore frameless oval glasses, her long hair was tied in a loose bun. The long dress hung loosely on her petite body, ending several centimeters above the ankles. It was easy to know that she wore nothing else underneath. Her features retained sure signs a weariness, like a weathered clay statue. For that reason, the dark-red lipstick she had on looked like a highlighted line among rows of texts. In fact, it was the only make-up she had on. This must've been the type of woman Nick would've addressed as "ugly beauty", Ellis thought. <em>There are women like that, Ellis. She would've passed for ugly but for some reasons, you think she's beautiful. Then it'll always be that way for you, although you'll never find out what you exactly like about her face. It seems that her face comes altogether at once, and it becomes impossible to imagine her not owning that face.<em> He had hard times guessing her age.

"Welcome, Sir," she said.

Ellis swallowed. That was the first time someone addressed him as "Sir".

"Uh, I have an invitation."

She frowned then extended her hand. Ellis passed her the invitation. She took it then took some time to read it. As she read, the tapped a heel of her crème pumps. Her fragile ankle looked as if it was about to crack every time she made a tap.

A while later, she looked up at him with a smile, handed him back the invitation then walked him towards a sofa near the piano. "This is your reserved seat. Please feel free to order anything. My name is Marie, you may call me if you need anything."

The song moved to the Ballades, Sviatoslav Richter on piano. Ellis had no clue whether it was heavier or lighter than the previous music. Since it was solo piano he assumed that it was supposed to be a lighter piece. A waiter came to deliver him the menu book and an ashtray. Ellis thanked him than waited until he left before he extracted a pack of Marlboro regulars from his blazer pocket. When he had lit one, he put the carton back into his pocket then started leafing through the menu. Like the music, the names of cocktails confused him.

Ellis looked at the people in suits again then tried mimicking their easy attitude. He sank himself on the sofa, crossed his legs then tried smoking comfortably. Yet no matter how hard he tried, his shoulders were tense: again and again his gaze dashed back to his dirty nails and old working boots.

* * *

><p>Nick showed up a while later, wearing a black suit. He walked towards the bar then ordered for himself a drink. Marie left her desk, seemingly telling him about Ellis's arrival. Nick nodded several times, took his cocktail glass then left for Ellis's table.<p>

"You know, you could've taken anything from designer stores since the Apocalypse had cleared more than half of the population," he said with a smile then took a quick sip.

"Man, it doesn't feel right," Ellis said, taking a last smoke then stubbed the two-third smoked cigarette in the ashtray.

"Think of it as something outside the morals," Nick said sat down on a leather stool facing Ellis's wide sofa. He bottomed up his drink then extracted a pack of Benson & Hedges, took a cigarette, put one between his lips then lit it with a copper lighter. "_Carpe diem_, Ellis."

Ellis nodded, but he wasn't approving Nick's suggestion. The wool blazer felt comfortable enough for him and the boots had taken his feet's shapes and clung there like a second skin, he saw no need in taking unattended things from designer stores.

"Grey Goose?" Nick asked a while later, a bit surprised.

"Yeah, just something that caught my eyes from the menu," he said. "I don't know any of the cocktails, you see, and the explanations don't seem to make it any better."

"Pretty remarkable for something picked at random," Nick said. Smoke came out of his thin lips as he spoke. "It's purely distilled vodka that already tastes good that I'm completely against the idea of using it as base."

"Say whatever you like, Nick," Ellis said with a smile, his hands nervously searched the cigarette carton on the cushion. "Not that I'll understand." The carton had slipped to behind a cushion and he couldn't seem to retrieve it since he was only searching on his right.

Nick smiled then, as if reading Ellis's mind, extracted a cigarette then passed it to him.

"Thanks," Ellis said, taking the cigarette. He lit it using his plastic lighter.

"So, Ellis, what are you up to these days?"

It suddenly dawned on him that the way Nick said his name hadn't changed. Nick had become thinner and his face had the same kind of weariness like the Japanese woman at the reception table. Even the way he moved had changed, like gentlemen in sixties American movies. The only thing that hadn't changed was the way he said "Ellis".

"Working at my auto-shop," Ellis said, letting out a puff. "Past midnight, I rehearse with my band. We've just signed with an indie label some two months ago."

"Rock?"

"Kind of," he said. "We do covers of Jimi Hendrix and Bob Dylan."

"Your covers sound somewhere near Midnight Riders?" Nick asked with a frown.

"No, not at all," he said. "Midnight Riders would've passed for underground. We're not at all that hardcore." After a while: "The demo recording's in my car. You can have it if you want."

"That'll be great," Nick said, gradually easing his frown into a smile. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to listen to it, though. He simply couldn't picture himself listening to rock: thirty seconds, and that was about all he could stand.

"Hey, Nick," Ellis said when the third Ballade ended. "Laugh at me all you want, but this kind of music makes me feel uneasy."

"Starters in classical experiences same kind of tension," Nick said, averted his gaze towards the aquarium then to Ellis again. "Because with classical, what you get is an intense, inward emotion, unlike that you get with rock: the raw type." He stubbed his cigarette butt into the ashtray, stood up then added: "I have to perform now. I'll get back to it later, since it will go on for hours…"

On stage, Marie placed a Chopin Nocturne book on the stand, then arranged the ones on a small table next to the piano. The detached scores she put on the side.

When Nick sat on the piano stool, the greenish light reached his face, giving strange accents. The music had been turned off. Nick took some time to remove his rings, put them on top of the piano, opened the book then ironed the fold using his hand before started playing.

Ellis looked back at the table and realized that Nick had purposely left a carton of Benson & Hedges for him. _Carpe diem, Ellis_, he thought, sinking back on the sofa.

* * *

><p>For some reasons, the melancholy-sounding songs seemed natural enough to Ellis. It seemed to him that this type of music had always been there, even back then, personified in the way Nick moved, talked, and thought.<p>

He lit another Benson & Hedges then returned to noticing Nick's fingers on the keys. They looked perfectly at ease, sometimes he could even look away and still got the notes right. Ellis, on the other hand, had no clue that a piano could be that complicated. Although he couldn't yet put into words, the movements of the hands, wrists, and fingers were fascinating for him. Nick had been married twice, divorced twice, and he could picture none of the women disappointed by those fingers. He shook off the thought then waved at Marie, who was, by chance, looking in his direction. She nodded and smiled, took off her glasses, put it next to the book on the counter before finally left for Ellis's table.

"Mind if I ask you to sit down?" Ellis asked.

"Pleasure's on me," Marie said. "Besides, it's past midnight already, there wouldn't be that many people coming." She looked back at the reception desk then added: "Can I first take my cigarette and tell someone to watch the desk for me?"

Ellis nodded. She walked back towards the desk to fetch her Gauloises and a lighter then waved at someone at the bar to take over. A man in his late fifties nodded then left for the desk. Marie took a seat on a leather stool facing Ellis's sofa.

"What is he playing now?" he asked after she sat down.

Marie extracted a cigarette then put it between her lips. Ellis was about to light her cigarette when she waved it off with a smile then lit it using her own silver lighter.

"Nocturne in E from Opus sixty-two. Chopin," she said after a puff.

"This one sounds sad. But then, everything he's playing sounds really sad for me," Ellis said, looking back at the stage. After some time, he asked: "Are all songs by that guy supposed to sound _that_ sad?"

"You see, Chopin suffered from a disease his entire life, so every day became some kind of struggle against death. If one is placed in that position, I'm sure melancholy thoughts will be natural enough. In his case, he translated them into music. The nocturnes in particular," Marie said with a smile.

Ellis stubbed the butt of his cigarette then bent his neck left and right. None of them popped.

"So, nocturnes are supposed to be sad," Ellis said to himself. Then to Marie: "But most rock musicians are sad then come up with violent songs."

Marie took a smoke then replied: "There are hundreds of years in difference. I guess musicians' temperaments must've undergone some kind of change, too."

"Anyway, playing like that, he seems really at home," Ellis said after some time.

"Yes. Even back then he interpreted Chopin best, out of all composers," Marie said with a smile. Smoke floated out of her lips. "I saw his solo performance for the graduation. He played the first and fourth Ballades then came back with an encore because they couldn't stop cheering."

"You _were_ in the same school with him?" Ellis asked.

"He was my senior."

"You must've known him for a long time," he said. "Mind to tell some story?"

"I went to see him to ask for a signature after the recital. It was then I knew that we're Americans, born in the same city, and both specialized in interpretations of Chopin. Talk of coincidences." She said with a smile then crossed her legs. She paused some time for another smoke then looked at the stage before continued: "We got married a few years later when I was twenty-five, only to separate after one and half years. Hard temperaments on both sides," She smiled then gazed at the high ceiling. The music entered a change in tempo. "We met again at one of CEDA Shelters after the Apocalypse. Honestly speaking, I've never guessed that any of us would make it alive, out of all people. He said he had a small classical bar and he asked me to help him manage it, since he never likes taking care of things other than playing music and choosing records to be played here."

She asked after a short pause: "You knew him during Apocalypse?"

"We and two other persons got left behind while trying to catch a whirlybird," Ellis said then took a smoke. "He was really cold back then, everybody thought that he was some kind of 'out there'—he eventually learned to believe us, though."

"You know, he's never the type who believes and makes friends with just everyone, leave alone keeping them. Once he wants to, though, he has his ways," Marie said. Ellis let out a puff then took a shorter smoke, during which he caught another glimpse of his oil-tainted nails. The taints looked naturally parched there, as if his nails had been that dirty since the day he was born.

"I guess he had no other choice back then," Ellis said. "Besides, zombies are impossible to talk to."

Ellis continued with the story of their conversations at the swamp.

* * *

><p>Another song ended. Nick turned a page then launched right away into the next song.<p>

"He never likes telling anyone about himself," Marie said assuredly, lit a new cigarette using an used one then stubbed the butt in the ashtray. "I bet you're the only one he'd told about the bar. He must've really liked you, even back then." She smiled when she finished speaking.

"I was always on the careless side," Ellis said, letting out a puff. "He always cleaned my mess, so probably I'm like a brother to him. I think it's easier to relate to someone when one's stronger and the other's pretty much hopeless," Ellis chuckled then added: "I'm speaking from experience."

"Nick never believes in 'family', he doesn't even know how it's supposed to look or feel like," Marie said. She cleared her throat before continued: "Besides, the way he looks at you explains everything. He doesn't even need to tell me."

The song reached its final chords.

* * *

><p>"I don't get it," Ellis said some time after Nick started another nocturne.<p>

"Nick's pretty much like a well-written novel," Marie said, letting out a long, leisurely puff. "You flip it this way and there's your fact. Next time you flip it the other way and there's another. None of them is wrong. His views are always wide."

"In human language?"

Marie chuckled.

"For him, if it's attraction, then it is: pure and simple. There's no straight, homosexual, or bisexual. An attraction's an attraction. He takes it the way he takes music: if a piece is badly interpreted, for him it'll be that way."

"Human language, still?"

Marie uncrossed her legs then straightened the fabric on her thigh.

"He bases meanings his own way."

"Sounds pretty stiff for me," Ellis said. The song repeated the refrain on octaves followed by scales. "I like this part," he told Marie. She waited until the part passed then replied:

"On the contrary, it's very flexible once you get to know it: meaning that he makes most definitions universal. It's a non-judgmental, non-categorical view. Alright so far?"

Ellis nodded. By now he had forgotten his cigarette.

"_Non-judgmental, non-categorical view,"_ he mimed.

The long column of ash formed at the tip of Ellis's forgotten cigarette fell on his jeans. He wiped it off then patted several times on the spot to get rid of the remaining ash.

"An attraction's an attraction," she said assuredly.

On the stage, Nick paused to stretch his arms and fingers, closed the book in front of him then took a new one from the table next to the piano. He put it on the stand, opened somewhere in the middle then took a deep breath before started playing.

* * *

><p>The two songs from the book turned out to be ones to close to his performance. When the second song ended, Nick closed the lid of the piano, stood up from the stool then went to the bar for another drink. The customers clapped for some time, which surprised him because he had left for the bar without even a single attempt to make any contact with them. In the end, he turned to look at them then nodded with a smile.<p>

Marie had returned to her desk before the last song ended to start the music when the performance ended. Before then she had replaced the ashtray and taken her used glass back to the counter. When Nick returned to Ellis's table, everything was just like what he had seen before performing, except for the carton of Benson & Hedges which was now half empty.

"The last two songs are by a different composer, right?" Ellis asked.

Nick extracted a cigarette from the carton on the table, put one between his lips then lit it using his copper lighter.

"Right. Bach," he said. The smoke that came out of his mouth curled mid-air, lingering there for a long time. "The first one's a prelude, the second one a bouree. Both from his second _English Suite_." A short while later, he asked: "Marie told you?"

Ellis nodded. "No. After some time of listening to Cho-pine I realized that the other two aren't his. I can't tell exactly why they sound different, though."

"Like you can't tell a prelude from a bouree," Nick said with a smile.

"You bet."

"They're of different periods," he took a long, leisurely then added: "Their musical textures are different, although the influences are clear."

Pretty much like the ages in rock, Ellis thought.

"The piano has the strangest sound I've ever heard," Ellis said after some time. "Sort of like a guitar after being left out cold for too long."

Nick turned to look at the unattended piano on stage. He always did it to make sure that it still shared his loneliness. Under the single spotlight and bathed in reflective lights from the aquarium, it looked somehow orphaned.

"Pleyels are supposed to sound like that," he said, turning to look at Ellis. "Besides, that one's an 1885."

Nick uncrossed his legs. Ellis watched the folds of the fabric as Nick did so. The suit was actually that flexible, after all. "Anyway, where are you going to sleep?"

"In my car," Ellis said assuredly.

"My apartment's a ten-minute drive from here," Nick said, stubbing the butt of his two-third smoked cigarette. "If you want to, you can come with me and leave your car here. I've got securities. I'll get the recording tomorrow."

* * *

><p>"Say, you've got a piano at your place, too?"<p>

"A 1920 Steinway," Nick said. "After the Apocalypse, most of the things are pretty much free, if you know what I mean." After a while, he added: "You weren't drawn into the performance."

"I figured that you actually didn't want to hear anyone clapping," Ellis said. "You played only to know that you've made it out alive after a long Apocalypse."

Ellis looked through the windows. The city looked like the eyes of someone on drug, the lights looked pretty much confused whether to stay lit or out. During these hours it wasn't strange that even L.A. had its own deserted spots, although Ellis wondered if it was actually the fact or that Apocalypse had cleared too much people who usually swarmed the city past midnight. It seemed that the time had come into a halt, if it wasn't for the light that passed their faces from time to time as the champagne Maserati advanced.


	4. Nocturnes part 2

**Disclaimer: Left 4 Dead 2 belongs to Valve.**

**Setting: Ten years past the two previous chapters, five years past Apocalypse.**

* * *

><p><strong>Part TWO<strong>

_*) after the rescue in C 5, The Parish_

"There are women like that, Ellis. She would've passed for ugly but for some reasons, you think she's beautiful. Then it'll always be that way for you, although you'll never find out what you exactly like about her face. It seems that her face comes altogether at once, and it becomes impossible to imagine her not owning that face," Nick explained in exactly the same way like years ago, when he had asked him about types of women in the chopper that would then carried them to four different places.

"_Those survivors _as_ carriers should be delivered in turns. Keep in mind that each Shelter has its special kind of test,"_ the instruction was clear, although they had no clue what a "special kind of test" would be. They were curled up in the corners, wounds about everywhere, too tired to ask whether the "test" would possibly kill them. At least they were already inside the chopper.

There wasn't any window, all they could see was the thick steel wall and occasional light that would sneak out from a tiny gap around the latch.

"Probably you just like her face," Ellis said with a smile. He embraced his legs then let out a long breath. He was the most relieved among all. Twenty-three certainly wasn't a good age to die. At least make it twenty-seven, like Jimi Hendrix, he thought.

"I wonder," Nick said, averting his gaze to Ellis. "Anyway let's say, for now, that it's just something naïve which exists even for men: she would've passed for ugly, but you like her. Something about that face strikes you somewhere."

"Good one. Simple enough even for me," Ellis said, lifting his face.

"First Shelter!" the pilot notified.

Everyone snapped back to attention. A while later, when the chopper made its first landing, Coach stood up then said goodbye to everyone. He had a wide smile on his face.

"Figured that you young people could use a longer while of companionship," he said, keeping the smile.

"I'll see you again, Coach," Ellis said. Rochelle echoed the same thing. Nick said nothing, only smiled. He was the only person who knew that he would never see Coach again until a very long time.

Second Shelter followed. Ellis watched Rochelle went down. He had proposed to leave before her, but she waved it off with a smile.

"You guys can _really_ be friends!" she said, waving away as the chopper started floating several inch above the ground.

Ellis waved back at her with an assuring smile. The relieved smile of a gamer who had recently passed an adventure in Survival Mode. The chopper reached the third Shelter an hour later, which had been passed in silence.

"This one's mine, Nick," he said, forcing a smile. _When the stage lights are out_, Nick once said, _you'll find a part in you wishing the show would start all over again_. After a while, he added: "You know, in games, the last Shelter usually turns out to be the safest."

Ellis jumped out of the chopper. When he turned to look at Nick, he saw on his face what could've passed as a smile. In the back of his mind, Ellis wished that after a blink they'd be back, four of them, at the hotel's roof level, preparing for the Apocalypse. If it was to happen again, they would certainly make a far better team, Ellis was sure. They would watch each other's back more than ever. _Hell, we'd even make the best zombie-killing team in the world!_ Ellis smiled to himself as he watched the chopper flied away.

* * *

><p><em>*) present day<em>

Nick changed the CD into Pollini's version of Chopin Nocturnes. Ellis had remembered bits of them, so it felt easier to convince himself that he was actually listening to the nocturnes.

"Aren't we heading to your place?" Ellis asked. "I thought you said it's ten minutes away." His eyes had started feeling heavy.

Nick said nothing in reply. He was driving, physically, but his mind had returned to a safe room inside the music.

Ellis wanted to ask again, but he figured that it would be useless. Probably Nick wanted to drive around the city for a while, looking at the lights. He used to do that with his father when he was a little boy. That was then he learned to identify machinery with city lights, which turned out to be the best method for him.

"Hey, the 'ugly beauty' thing," Ellis said instead. "It applies for guys, too?"

"Depends on how you apply it," this time, though, Nick answered.

"Meaning when a dude would've passed as ugly, then someone thinks that he's handsome, that person will take the dude as handsome for ever?"

A short silence followed. The first song ended, followed by the famous Nocturne in E-flat. "Hey, I know this!" Ellis exclaimed, more to break the silence. "My old man used to listen to it sometimes, it was the only classical he ever listened to other than his regular jazz." Then to Nick: "You skipped that one at Via."

Nick bent his neck left and right, as if unperturbed. None of them popped, but they hurt when the muscles stretched.

"You know, I heard there were unlucky ones who didn't make it out alive from the Shelter," Ellis said to break the silence.

"Yeah?"

"You don't seem surprised," Ellis said, looking at an abandoned building which must've been a remarkable one back in the days. Standing there unperturbed, it reminded Ellis of the piano at the bar.

"CEDA made those Shelters for a reason," Nick said. "They may be about health, safety, and protection but they weren't thinking about us, they were thinking for themselves. They needed to secure themselves from the infection, too. At least the upper echelons were safe, even the lower ones weren't."

"Sounds rational to me," Ellis said. It was his first time he ever said that: rational. He never thought that it was that big of a word. _This part of X machine is rational_, he thought that it would sound pretty much off. When he finally pronounced it, sure enough, it sounded different.

After a while, he said again: "You know, there was this Doctor Mann who called me for a daily appointment since the day I arrived. I was healthy as a horse, of course, but dude kept telling me that I was sick, that I needed a sort of 'vaccine'. One day I heard from a dude at the lab that I _was_ the source of the vaccine. The nice lab dude went missing the next day. A week later another survivor called Donnie started having bubbles all over his skin, three days later he blew up like a balloon. Man, it was the scariest shit I've ever seen. It went on until months later, until suspicious people gathered up to butcher Mann. There was a time of peace until Doctor Hank came. Dude was worse than Mann. More survivors died as experiments, died under the 'vaccine' pitfall. I got lucky because by then I had met someone at a bar who knew an underground hacker. Ellis was removed, for three years until I escaped the Shelter I 'lived' as Donnie." Ellis used his fingers for the quotation mark. "I was in the society and the system and I was supposed to be a part of neither."

"_I was in the society and the system and I was supposed to be a part of neither,"_ Nick mimed with a smile. "The smartest statement you've spoken in years."

"Anyway, it seemed to me that you lived just fine back then," Ellis said, turning to look at Nick.

"Marie helped with the forging of my file," he said. "She had worked as a translator for some time, getting friendly with some insiders along the way. I lived as Kafka Holden until it was declared safe to live outside the Shelter. The real guy died in a shady experiment."

"Funny that we shared a same fate," Ellis said with a smile.

A long pause.

"Hey, about the 'ugly beauty' thing—"

"Is the question supposed to identify yourself?" Nick interjected.

Ellis almost choked. Yet he managed to retained a certain composure by focusing on the buildings and street lights instead. He could hardly believe that there were still active buildings after the Apocalypse. Probably the Apocalypse wasn't all that grave after all, he thought.

"If that's the case, you're asking a wrong question," Nick said. After some time, he added: "You're very handsome, Ellis." The nocturne reached the passage in _con forza_.

When the song ended in time Nick made a second turn, he knew that it would actually be the time to return to the apartment.

* * *

><p>Ellis had always wanted to make love in his car, Bob Dylan's rough voice in the background, but even for women it wasn't that cool of an idea. Now, thinking of the same idea, he found himself making love in silence.<p>

What exactly about the smell of leather that turned him on? Probably it had taken Nick's natural scent. He imagined the older man read or slept there after hours of practicing. The more Ellis thought about it he realized that he was pretty much clueless. Just like he had no idea that the black sofa was a regular Ikea, he had no idea what exactly about the smell that made him kissed Nick even hungrier.

On the other hand, Nick was calm. He made the rhythm, he followed it, although Ellis thought that he was the only one who'd caused a stir in the older man. As he ran his oil-stained fingers on the back of the suit, he saw the surrounding like a scene disturbed by continuous blitz, a scene in a discotheque. He saw the grand piano facing a wide window. The lights made it looked afloat above the city lights. But then, to him it looked as orphaned as it could be, despite the lacquered surface that reflected every kind of light from outside the window. He would like Nick to play it for him, any song that he wouldn't understand, but when he felt Nick's fingers crawling under his old blazer then T-shirt, he eventually stopped thinking about the piano.

Ellis never had a clear idea about how making love supposed to be, even with women, because his instincts had always taken a better part of himself. All he knew was that he supposed to melt into a lump with the partner, to take the most he could've taken. This time, though, he learned that it was some kind of music, there were soft parts, loud parts, parts that are made fast, parts that are made slow. Nick kissed him on the neck, the chest, licked the collarbones, the nipples, then he realized that something had flushed down from his stomach: his fly was already rock-hard. He never knew that it could be _that_ hard.

"Seriously, Nick?" Ellis asked, panting. His manly ego raved how he had failed. His face was warm with Nick's breath. He knew that in the end it was Nick's rhythm instead of his own that he followed.

Nick said nothing in reply. His breathing was still calm, which surprised Ellis. Although it wasn't surprising that the older man's body spoke different languages from different touches of random people, he had no idea that Nick was that accustomed. He looked particularly cool when it comes to sex, as if it was never a bigger act than eating or breathing. Ellis had always fantasized sex with Nick to be wild: he had thought about it since he saw Nick bandaged himself in the safe room at the swamps, not that he was gay, the thought just struck him because Nick exuded sexuality, out of all things. It was natural enough for him to be drawn towards it: he had fantasized Roger Moore as much as he fantasized Ingrid Bergman.

Nick unbuttoned Ellis's jeans then traced the toned thighs as he slid it down. Ellis moaned. He hated the fact that he just moaned naturally. He felt like a broken tape. He watched Nick as he took off his blazer, his shirt, loosened up his belt, and slid down his pants. That'd be great if that's me in his place, Ellis thought, but the chance had since long passed.

Using some highly efficient movements, Nick made Ellis sat on his lap. The mechanic wondered how easy it felt for him to follow the cues. As for himself, he wondered when he'd actually be able to come up with something like that. Thinking about it made his breathing heavier, like breathing underwater. Nick's breathing, on the other hand, had just started turning heavy.

So, it was music after all Ellis thought when Nick pushed into him. He clawed the back of Nick's thighs using his oil-stained fingers. He moaned louder, rhyming with Nick's rough moans before his right ear. The lobe was warm and moist from his breath. One time Nick even kissed then sucked on it, very gently. The trace of saliva made it cold, although the warmth would return in a very short while. Ellis touched his fly in rhyme with Nick's pushes.

Marie was right, with Nick there was no wrong or right: he simply made it seemed that it was always there, waiting to be called out. An attraction's an attraction, simple as that, he guessed that sex would've only meant sex. They came violently a while later.

* * *

><p>Nick got up from the sofa to fetch a lighter and a carton of Benson &amp; Hedges from the top of the grand piano. Needless to say, he already knew that it was good. Ellis watched Nick's sweaty flesh caught lights from both the halogen lamps and the ones from outside. When he returned to the sofa, he extracted a cigarette then passed it to Ellis, took another one for himself, put it between his lips then lit it after he lit Ellis's.<p>

"Man, you have so much confidence," Ellis said, letting out a puff. The smoke caught in his pores. "I've always thought that it supposed to be a trial-and-error thing."

Nick chuckled. Smoke floated out of his thin lips.

"No, like other things, making love is all about methods," he said.

"You mean there's a certain method that applies for _all_ types of partners?"

"Each partner a method," Nick replied, taking a leisurely smoke.

"Yeah, even so it wears out real fast," Ellis said, letting out a puff. The smoke got into his eyes, so blinked several times before continued: "Nobody wants repeats for something like that."

"Follow the language," Nick said with a smile. "Bodies are like scores, they have certain things you can think for yourself, but there are also fixed rules."

Outside, the sky was still dyed in strange colors.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

Something I wrote purely for fun. I'm currently taking a break from my original writings, so it's pretty much important to keep the fire and the ideas alive.

Compared to the previous two chapters, this chapter seems to me like a "real fan fiction", since only the roots of the characters are borrowed. The added traits are something I address as "transposing"; possible things that will happen based on the characteristic roots. This is about the perfectionist versus the easygoing, classical versus rock, metropolis man versus small-town dude.:-)


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